I said, “We make fire with them; if you like I'll show you—but it makes a little noise.”
“Go on,” said Wag; and I struck a match, rather expecting a stampede. But no, they were quite unmoved, and Wag said, “Beastly row and smell—why don't you do the ordinary way?”
He brushed the palm of his left hand along the tips of the fingers on his right hand, put them to his lips and then to his eyes, and behold! his eyes began to glow from behind with a light which would have been quite bright enough for him to read by. “Quite simple,” he said; “don't you know it?” Then he did the same thing in reverse order, touching eyes, lips and hand, and the light was gone. I didn't like to confess that this was beyond me.
“Yes, that's all very well,” I said, “but how do you manage about your houses? I am sure I saw lights in the windows.”
“Course,” he said, “put as many as you want;” and he ran round the table dabbing his hand here and there on the cloth, or on anything that lay on it, and at every place a little round bud or drop of very bright but also soft light came out. “See?” he said, and darted round again, passing his hands over the lights and touching his lips; and they were gone. He came back and said, “It's a much better way; it is really,” as if it were only my native stupidity that prevented me from using it myself.
A smaller one, who looked to me rather a quieter sort than Wag, had come up and was standing by him: he now said in a low voice:
“P'raps they can't.”
It seemed a new idea to Wag: he made his eyes very round. “Can't? Oh, rot! it's quite simple.”
The other shook his head and pointed to my hand which rested on the table. Wag looked at it too, and then at my face.
“Could I see it spread out?” he said.